


Between the Covers

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Series: OnTheWayto4K Celebration [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Mutually Unrequited, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic, Reader-Insert, Regret, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 19:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16839238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: Dean loses you, and it’s rough. It’s fine - it’s not that unpredictable, it’s one of the things that can happen - but he’s letting go of a lot this time.And then he finds out what he’s really lost.





	Between the Covers

**Author's Note:**

> lenakitten02 asked: Congrats on near 4k!! This is so exciting!! So I was looking through that list of prompts you linked, and I came across "Dear Diary," and I thought about what Dean would do if he came across Reader's diary for some reason and *just couldn't resist* taking a peek, only to find out reader is HOPELESSLY IN LOVE WITH HIM and THEN I thought about what would happen is Reader had just died dramatically and he found the diary. you can take it either way i think anything you do would be wonderful ok ily  
> ...  
> I guess we’ll see whether this was a good idea or not. I feel mean already but apparently people like angst? *shrug* anyway, I hope you do too Lena. Thanks for the prompt! So TW for angst, character death, and it’s a ficlet long at least. I cried! Sorry!

_-JC I could wring Dean’s neck!! GD jerk!-_

Wwwoops! _That’s_ Y/N’s diary, not her hunting journal. Dean frowns at the books and tilts it away to look at the thickness. The ribbon lies towards the back cover, but he’s pretty sure he just accidentally read something much closer to the front. Ages ago. Doesn’t matter. He puts it back and digs around for your other journal before returning to the library.

Far out, he didn’t even know you kept a diary. Whatever works. Not surprising though, considering how thorough you are about things. He doesn’t mean to dwell on it, but he does wonder what could’ve made you so upset with him. It’s been a long time since you really disagreed-

“You ready?” you ask.

“Wait- I only went to get your journal!” Dean’s looking around the equipment on the library table. “When the hell did we get ready?”

“Yeah, you took ages,” says Sam. “Vampires. Grab your gear. We’re goin’ to Kansas City.”

* * *

“SAM!” Dean’s lost his place in the building. “SAM, WHERE ARE YOU?” He doesn’t know who’s left and it’s been too long since he heard from either of you. “SAM!!”

“IN HERE!”

Sam’s down a corridor somewhere and Dean runs, ready to be jumped, but as he approaches he can hear Sam mumbling urgently.

“Anyone left?” Dean calls.

“Just us!” he yells back, quickly dropping his voice when he says “You’re gonna be fine Y/N-”

“No, I’m gonna bleed out-” 

“Dean’s gonna start the car-” That’s when Dean skids to a stop beside them and sees you in Sam’s arms and bleeding from the neck.

Sam glares at him with every curse word his eyes can convey, swallowing grimly as Dean’s world swings wildly on the sight of you so bloody. “Dean?”

Yes, Dean understands. He starts to move again. Sam’s getting himself up, you in his arms, and Dean puts his fingers over yours to press down on the wound. “Yeah, we’re gonna get you fixed right up, Kiddo,” he says and gives up the chat for getting through the doorways and along the gravel.

He angles himself to get the car door open, focusing on the image of a hospital to overwhelm your pale lips and sickly pallor.

“Wai- waih- stop.” You sound downright feeble, and it’s nauseating for them both.

Sam gets to his knees to lay you down and Dean starts feeling his panic warp, like he's gonna complain, or whine, or slip into a catatonic denial. There’s so much blood. His hand is at an awkward angle on your neck, and he ends up kneeling, with your head on his thighs, filling your sight with his perfect face, upside down. “You’re okay Y/N!” He puts his other hand along your jaw, a mirror image. “You’ll be fine!” he insists.

“Not,” you say. “Very not.” There’s a cold lightness seeping into the edges of your body. It feels like you’re dissolving away from the outside in, and only your torso remains. It’s terrifying, but you can focus on Dean being close, the feel of his hands and his warmth, the smell. “I’m prob'ly going to die,” you say and feel your chin start to wobble.

You’re right, you know Dean knows it. If he starts driving now, you’ll die in the backseat, among panic and sliding on the seat… “Well, you’ve gone and jinxed it now,” he smirks, but his next breath is all shaking dread. He sees Sam’s fingertips dig into your shoulder and fold your hand in his grip, and then his vision begins to fog.

You can’t really see Sam, so you close your eyes and say, “Love you Sam.” You open them again, looking into Dean’s eyes so clearly that there is no upside down, not between his eyelashes. “Love you Dean.”

“Love you too Y/N,” says Sam. He rubs up and down your arm, kisses the back of the hand he holds, and Dean racks his brain to try and think of something special, something he could say that you’d want to hear, something that matches how much you mean to him and what a great big hole you’re going to leave now that you’re actually fucking going, and going forever- “I love you.” He lifts you up and kisses your lips, doing his best to keep it steady. “I love you, too, Y/N.” He feels your last breath fan over his chin.

They sit there, drawing out their disbelief for as long as is forgivable. At some point, Dean’s eyes focus again and he realises he’s been smoothing down your hair, while he tries to decide which he can bear less: having to look at your body in his arms till they get home, or letting Sam have that honour while he drives.

…

Three days later, Dean hears noises from your room. He finds Sam tidying up and stands in the doorway while Sam slows to a stop.

“Really, we could leave it as is,” he begins. “There’s so many rooms.’ He means that they don’t need the space straight away. “I just don’t want to leave it undone…” He chucks a shirt of yours on the bed. “Just too sad, you know.”

Dean nods, not bothered about getting his voice to work. He steps into the room and picks up your journal, stacked neatly with some other books in Sam’s half-done effort.

“You wanna finish up?” Sam offers.

For some reason, that feels right. Dean nods again, looking around at the job, the moment interrupted by Sam’s firm hand on his shoulder, patting kindly as he leaves the room.

Dean’s not sure why that’s so necessary, and almost scowls away the comfort since he’s still angry at himself for not being there when it all happened. It wasn’t complicated - you were just out numbered at your end of the building - but it’s easy for Dean to imagine all the should’ves when guilt is an option.

Maybe reading about what a jerk he’s been would help him feel justified. For a moment, he hesitates, because it’s your private journal. But you’re gone now. Maybe it should be read…. Dean flicks through the pages to find the same line he’d first found and sits on the bed.

… _JC I could wring Dean’s neck!! GD jerk! He only has to say ONE THING to Sam and that’s “Sorry I assumed the worst.” or “You’re only the best hunter I know. Of course you didn’t mean to make that mistake.” **That’s it.** Instead Sam’s watching him skulk around & hold this mood over the whole bunker…_

Yep, Dean smirks, sounds like the perfect flavour of shit for him to read right about now.

_…$10 says I’m baking pie t’row night just to start a conversation & talk him round to the point. I’ll pecan with cream, nail the bastard down.  
_

Dean’s hand drops between his legs, the book closing on his thumb as he thinks back to that pie. He knows exactly the day you mean. You were so… _incidental_. He didn’t even feel you change his mind, but you did, and he’d said sorry to Sam the next day. “Fuckin’ jerk whisperer, you were.” He’s astonished. He leans his elbows on his knees and keeps reading, through the months, enthralled with your point of view of how he hunts, Sam’s style, how he and Sam work together, where you thought you fitted in all of that. Why didn’t he ever ask you that: you had _expertise_. Then he gets to a day he never expected to see.

_…I started this journal as a way of putting aside my feeling for Dean. I thought I could allocated it to paper, not my voice, or my gestures, just keep it in this little world between the covers and put it **away**. He clearly doesn’t want a girlfriend. And if he did, judging by the nearest contenders, they’re nothing like me. I dunno though. Maybe, on top of “available” & “enthusiastic”, “temporary” is their main appealing feature, & that’s not me. I’d never let him go. Tho maybe it’s for the best too. Better to have loved & lost and all that but when you know exactly what you’re losing, what could be taken, maybe it’s better to know you can live without it already. I mean, you don’t **need** a third arm, but it’d probably be nice after awhile, and it’d fkn hurt if someone ripped it off. It’d be a **part** of you-” _

Dean can feel his breath pushing out faster than usual. He’s been rolling his chin forward to get the creases out…. All he has left of you is handwriting and memories. He can feel how angry he’s going to be. He sniffs and keeps reading.

_And I know for a fact that if he let me, I’d love him to bits. I’d fucking love him to within an inch of his life and for every moment of mine. Fuck it, I do already. The only reason I don’t say anything is because A. I’m chicken shit, & B. I don’t think he wants that kind of complication. So I’m doing what I **think** he wants. LOL It’s the gift that never gives. Lolsob._

Reading about him being a shit would’ve been bad, regretful, but this is far more punishing. This is fate being mean. And he’s being cruel to himself now, but he can’t help it. He wants you back so he’ll eat up every scrap of you left behind….

_But srsly, if you were used to coming back to someone who’d massage your shoulders, or kiss every cut, be there beside you-_

Dean closes the book on his thumb again and leans his forehead on the back of his hand. His face quivers, shaking the tears from his eyes and shuddering his next inhale. You would’ve loved him. Loved him. Squeezed him back together and said nice things in your sweet voice when long lost screams would wake him. You’d have been familiar, and warm, a part of him. He could’ve rolled over tomorrow morning and found you with his eyes closed, and you would’ve let him-

“Hey, you okay?” Sam’s walked past and knocked on the door for his upset brother.

“M-mm.” Dean shakes his head _No_ , wipes his hand down his cheeks and stands up to cover trying to regain control of his lungs. He holds up your journal as way of explanation, and without anything better to add he blurts out “She loved me.”

Sam comes up beside him and takes the book, catching the place Dean was at. He reads, and deflates, and Dean pushes past him, walking out into the hallway. Even though Dean can’t see his face, Sam starts pursing his lips to keep from getting sad and gives up trying to read soon enough, nodding in understanding as he turns. He goes out to meet Dean, his arms giving away the intention of a hug, and Dean steps back, fending him off. “No, don’t man.” He can’t even say the words straight. “I’ll fuckin’ bawl my head off. Just- I’ll be fine. It’s just-” He sucks in a deep breath and stands tall, hands on hips. “It’s just sad is all.”

Sam decides that the tears he kept at the pyre, the crying he thought he shouldn’t do because hunters die and that’s what happens, well now’s the time. You deserve them, and Dean does too. Sam doesn’t stop them from slipping down his cheeks. “Sure is,” he says, and watches Dean stand still and hold still and pretend to be unaffected while he can’t move enough to walk away.

“She woulda loved the hell outta me,” Dean manages, bleary eyed and fat lipped. “Literally.”

“She did Dean,” Sam assures him, nodding sadly. “You didn’t miss out.” Sam hands the diary back and Dean takes it, slowly tilting away before turning and walking to the garage. He reads the rest of your diary. He reads it the next day too. 

Years later, when Jodie’s packing up the personal belongings of Sam and Dean Winchester, she comes across this weathered old book and peaks inside such a curious thing amongst Dean’s treasures. She reads it, every word of yours and every crowded reply in the margins, every note he wrote back, and the photo he put between the pages. She cries and reads about how Dean was loved, and how he loved back. It becomes one of her most treasured possessions, too.


End file.
